


Not Quite Off, Are You?

by Gingercityjazz



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Humor, Birthday, Bubble Bath, Close Quarters, Disguise, F/M, It's For a Case, Molly drops everything for Sherlock, Sharing a Bed, Sherlock Holmes is Bad at Feelings, Texting, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vacation, conflicted molly, not the one molly wants, playing at being a spy, sherlock plays a role, shine is off the apple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-02 04:52:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2800235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gingercityjazz/pseuds/Gingercityjazz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has hijacked Molly's vacation. She enjoys the work, helping him take down a murderer, finding it an adventure that she never would have sacked up for back home. After 3 days of sunbathing, she gets a message. But what is Molly to do when their work becomes tedium, they barely speak outside of the case, and all she wants is one moment to quietly relax alone, in their tiny cramped single hotel room?</p>
<p>As with most of what I like to write, eventual smut. Rated explicit for some thoughts and references only, but it's all coming in good time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mr. Turner's Empire

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a verrry intense night with an old gentleman caller, who once decided to brush his teeth when I was in the bath. Chapter 2 may or may not be almost a perfect recount of what followed when he ended up running his hand over my soapy leg that fateful eve. Plus, who doesn't love Sherlolly being forced to confront what they mean to each other? 
> 
> Such smut to come :) Plus trying my hand at writing the mystery Sherlock has them wrapped up in. It can't all be boning all the time...sadly...

  
        She'd never want to admit it, but Molly breathed a sigh of relief the moment her phone buzzed. Dusting off the sand, about to apply yet another layer of SPF 60, only 3 days in and already growing bored with the calm waves and peachy sunsets.  
  
 **Can you be in the lobby in 15? Bring everything you've got.**  
  
 **-SH**  
  
She wanted to be surprised, could easily tell him to piss off, she was meant to be relaxing, and why was he bothering to keep up on where she was staying? It must be coincidence that his newest case brought him to this sunny spot on the California coast.  
  
 **Honestly how much laying on a towel can a person do? There's adventure to be had Molly!**  
  
 **-SH**  
  
A minute passed and Molly made her mind up that if he moved along she would stay in her bathing suit, a little revealing since nobody knew her here. Maybe another dip in the surf, though she wasn't much for relishing in cold water simply because the day was hot.  
  
 **I promise it won't disappoint.**  
  
 **-SH**

She closed her book and looked out at the ocean. Wave after wave, all just blue water. In her lab thousands of miles away, there was water there too.  
  
 **I need you**  
  
 **-SH**  
  
He knew that would do it. What a master of manipulation, to choose the phrase he could so innocently drop, knowing she would hear his impossibly low voice and feel it in her core.  
  
She gathered up her things and hopped towards her room. She'd barely unpacked as it was, never one to settle into unfamiliar terrain too easily. _If I have to call from wherever we end up, and cancel last minute, Sherlock can pick up the fee,_ she mused as she wrapped a sarong around herself, slipped into a pair of sleek sandals and trodded out to the front door, suitcase in tow. The spring in her step was calling her to question just how silly she was being, thinking of this as some extension of her fantasy, Sherlock whisking her away. She shook off the reality and slid a pair of sunglasses on just as a long black limousine pulled up and a large man in a black suit stepped out.  
  
"Ms. Hooper, if you please."  
  
Molly smiled warmly, allowing herself to get caught up in this, just a bit. She resigned herself to the fact that Sherlock would be all business when she arrived wherever he was waiting for her. As the man held her hand and led her into the car, she noticed two men in steel gray suits, one much older, and short but rotund. Gold rings, tanned skin, a rough face likely ravaged by years on a sun soaked coast.  
  
The other man had unmistakably dark curly locks, his back to her and speaking to the first in what sounded like Spanish.  
  
The limo was spacious, beautifully so, and Molly swept her eyes over the men breifly as Sherlock paused his chatter to turn to her, his eyes full of warmth and affection, oddly. Then he was gently sliding his hand around her back in a soft embrace. He regarded the other man with a gesture that looked like 'excuse me' and planted a delicate kiss to her cheek, chastely before breaking contact and sliding back over to his new friend. Molly nearly jumped at his touch, but caught herself in time enough to lean into it, carrying it off as a casual and commonplace occurrence between them. More likely, it wasn't rational thought that made her sink into it as she did, but rather pure desire.  
  
The short man hungrily took in her form, and although Molly's Spanish was limited to a pen-pal she had as a teenager, she swore she picked up some choice words. Among them were "bang for your buck" and "a pretty penny" which she knew as a wholly American expression, and was frankly surprised that she knew them at all. He must be Californian, where everyone spoke Spanish but with American phrasing. It also lead her to believe that perhaps Sherlock had gotten her into something heavier than she was ready for. Despite herself, Molly was proud to have filled the role well enough. In just a casual floral wrap, no makeup even. _Molly that's hardly something to boast about, being thought of as an expensive companion. I suppose it's ok to take the compliment,_ she giggled silently to herself.  
  
Judging by their quick conversation and body language, her role was simply to sit back and enjoy her first limo ride. As the car rode out along the coast, Molly let herself imagine just how this version of herself would continue the evenings events, with this slick, powerful business-man version of Sherlock. Suddenly her reverie was broken as the older man handed her a champagne flute, toasted them both in Spanish with a hearty laugh and a happy clink, and downed his glass with eyes locked on her body, as if he were drinking in Molly herself. It may have been just him committing to the charade, but Molly felt Sherlock's eyes do just the same over her form.  
  
She sat back as they pulled into the drive of a massive villa, letting out the stranger, both of them watching him stumble slightly and giggle to himself as he walked off. When the door closed, Sherlock's expression shifted immediately from drunken businessman to calculated again. _Ah there's the man I know._  
  
"Well done, brilliant, I knew you'd catch on quickly. I needed Mr. Lajoie to know my stature as a man with access to anything in this town. He might just be the man responsible for the deaths of four unlucky gamblers caught counting cards in one of his clubs last week. Or so we are to believe, but as you well know, I wouldn't be here if it were that simple. When we get back I'll catch you up on what I need you for."  
  
He ordered the driver something in Spanish and they were off. Apparently only he and Molly were to know what was going on.  
  
"Lucky for you that this case should bring you to the exact spot where I chose to spend my month off." Molly quipped from behind her dark shades.  
  
"Yes it was coincidence, happily so. I suppose we could have waited until he was back visiting my contact in London, and the guaranteed death toll rise would be a small price for you to catch some rays. Besides, nobody else knows about this man yet as a suspect. You and I are above even the FBI at this point. Lucky for you, this isn't your real job, and so you are still technically 'off.'  
  
Something in his excited sarcasm and smug smile made Molly wonder if maybe a few days here in the sun hadn't also gotten him into a different, equally sunny mood. It matched hers nicely and she let herself lay out on the wide cushioned expanse, helping herself to more champagne.  
  
"Now, back to your hotel it seems, since our new friend will be making us wait for our next meeting. I hope you have a nice view and a spacious bed."  
  
"Surely you can get your own room?" Molly was confused, if not the slightest bit delighted.  
  
"Mr Lajoie is a powerful man, we would do well not to underestimate him. He no doubt has people following me as we speak. Following us."  
  
"So I'm to be your lady of the night?"  
  
"Oh God Molly, no. Not for the night. For the month."

_That's my entire trip._ Molly pouted inwardly.

"Oh, and, in the empire which I, Mr. Turner, has built, they are my services that cost a 'pretty penny.' " Molly eyed him quizzically. He waved her off.

"Oh I saw your ears perk up when he used that expression, and then you smoothed our your dress."  
  
The car was back at her hotel now, and as they made their way out and back into the lobby, Molly felt herself tense slightly and remembered the role she had to play.  
  
She smiled and whispered to Sherlock: "Care to clarify these services? Or is that above my pay grade?"  
  
As he lead her with his hand low on the small of her back, he placed a wet kiss to the spot just below her ear and throatily replied  
  
"Darling, you paid for ME."

 

* * *

  
  
That was 28 days ago, and Molly was still having dreams of how that first night could have played out. Filthy fantasies, surely some of which became apparent to Sherlock since they were sharing a bed in this hotel while he continued his clandestine meetings with Mr. Lajoie. Sharing being a strong word, seeing as the king size bed meant there might as well have been a wall between them. Had she been moaning or talking in her sleep at all? If so, she was certain he would never bring it up. Molly being wet every night, awaking sometimes in a sweat from the ways she imagined (sometimes not even on purpose) all the ways they could be making use of this room. It made her shudder to think of him casually asking her why she sometimes kicked the blankets between them, knowing she might spit out that if they didn't have some barrier in place, she might let the vacation mindset take over and strip him naked to have her way with him. On this inverted version of their life back home, who could blame her for wanting to indulge?

 

They were close to landing on something that could exonerate Sherlock's client, so far the only suspect in all 4 murders. And he was going to deliver the real culprit, too, since proving a man's innocence was of no interest to Sherlock. Solving the puzzle was his only aim. "A few more days, tops," Sherlock had unconvincingly offered when Molly asked if they'd be through before the 30th.

  
Her main cover was that of an heiress to the very royal family of some country she couldn't pronounce, one which Mr Lajoie was intent on expanding his business to. With each passing day, she would find herself either running some elaborate surveillance from the room, or running through the streets downtown and hiding in the shadows of extravagant clubs and parlours at all hours of the night, watching Mr Lajoie and his men. The nights when Molly played the Heiress, she carried herself like a queen, and her Mr. Turner lavished her with attention, all of it nearly scripted dialogue and choreographed gesture. When they had to stake out spaces where they were surely not to be recognized, Molly would watch as Sherlock worked his manipulative magic on whoever he needed to in order to extract an alibi or artifact to study.  
The disguises and characters she got to play were exciting beyond measure, but when they got back to their hotel (sometimes arriving separately, when she wasn't playing the client of a millionaire escort), everything was real and grey again, just like home. Still, the wigs and dresses and sometimes even hotel staff uniforms, it all made her feel like a spy. Far from her deceased colleagues. And closer than ever, at least in proximity, to Sherlock.

  
  
Today Molly was faced with her most trying experience yet, Sherlock having snuck them into a museum, a cemetery, and it's adjacent church. It was thrilling, but her body was not used to all the spontaneous sprints away from security guards or jumps and hurdles through alleys. They'd met with Sherlock's client in jail, an experience Molly was shamefully glad to be done with. Never knowing when something needed looking into, it was a constant stream of interrupted sleep and dashing about. The fun, flirtatious Sherlock she found in the limo had become the same obsessive, cold man she often tried to paint away. To excuse. When would it go too far? When would she finally stop glossing over his ability to puppet her?

 

Not to mention, the close quarters that once invited some sexy dreams and sexy realities (accidentally bumping him in the middle of the night or watching him cuff his button downs were extremely sexy to an otherwise basically celibate Molly), now they felt cramped. She felt like simply another tool at his disposal. At least her desire to shag him was sometimes now replaced for her desire to slap him, although she hesitated to take joy in that replacement.

Sherlock had assured her of the need to stay put, however, since the nights when he was out to meet with Mr. Lajoie could happen at any time, and they often went together since Mr. Turner was apparently such a skilled lover that rich women like herself would be purchasing deluxe packages. And since Mr Turner was a man of many talents, one of them was his ability to infiltrate through unsuspecting channels and 'gather intel' to feed back to Lajoie. The man also seemed extremely taken to the idea that a man with power enough over any woman to be collecting a handsome fee for his company, well that there was a man to admire and to learn from. A man of adoration to a slimy kingpin like Lajoie.

  
As per their routine when they got in, Sherlock had showered quickly and was now in the bedroom area, pouring over files at the small desk. Days had passed without much conversation outside of the case, and Molly was quite certain that her upcoming 35th birthday would be up to her to celebrate.

_He barely speaks to me at all if its not about a meeting. Although I know a thing or two about obsession, too._

Molly was fully convinced that he was either unaware or disinterested in her birthday, likely having deleted the date had he ever known it at all. There was disappointment, sure, but also some relief to have the time alone. When she wasn't getting Mr. Turner's undivided and passionate attention, she was getting Sherlock's, and there was an extremely stark contrast between the two. At times, she wished to be back home in her flat, with Toby. Boredom did not lend itself to desire, and desire, when unfulfilled, could be smothering.

Midnight was only an hour away, and Molly drew herself a bath, not even thinking to let Sherlock know how long she intended to be soaking. She'd bought some candles with a lilac scent, poured herself a tall glass of red, and had her small portable music player softly pouring out an acoustic Ed Sheeran record. Some desires could be provided to oneself with great accuracy and satisfaction. _Maybe the shower head has a decent water pressure,_ Molly indulged the thought. The warm air and the feel of it as she stripped down was already clearing her mind of Sherlock's annoying habits of late.

  
Just as she'd settled in, taking it slowly to feel each bubble spin up against her skin, she heard him call out to her.  
  
"Going to be long?"  
  
She sighed exasperatedly and thought about getting out, before settling on staying put. Having to dry off, dress, and likely add more hot water and bubbles was not on the agenda tonight. Besides, the toilet in this massive room (thank you Barts and your full pay out vacation days) was tucked behind a small wall anyway. Quite private.  
  
"Oh just come in and go ahead, I've already gotten in." She wasn't about to interrupt the already-working aromatherapy haven she'd created.  
  
"Gotten in what?"

  
In his state of perpetual mind-palace, he'd somehow managed to miss the water filling the tub. He really could be ignorant when it suited him.

  
"The bath. And I'd rather not get out just now."  
  
Sherlock flashed on how odd it was for Molly to be suggesting something so reasonable when he'd expected some shyness or protest about privacy. Lately he could feel his presence wearing her down, and this was an unexpectedly gentle reaction. She always forgave his slights. And he supposed they'd done away with privacy in the last few weeks, and turned the handle.  
  
"Ok I'll be quick." He walked in, immediately grabbing the shower curtain and pulling it shut towards her head as he went, noting that the bubbles did a near perfect job of concealing her.  
  
"Oh Sherlock, hide your blushing eyes." Molly teased. The warm water rushing at every part of her as she sunk in deeper, it was melting away her stress and replicating the warmth she felt spread out across her body when Sherlock, scratch that, Mr. Turner, was touching her. All this time in a bed next to him, without a trace of contact beyond the small gestures and hints at togetherness when they walked in the shoes of Mr. Turner and his heiress. Molly felt emboldened to joke with him. Knowing he couldn't interpret it as anything but sarcasm.

"Blushing eyes? Says the woman who pretends to be asleep still when I get dressed after my morning shower." Sherlock was speaking from behind the wall, barely audible. Molly felt herself blushing now, realizing that she couldn't get away with sneaking a peak at his muscled shoulders and bare back side without him noticing. Of course she couldn't.

"Not that it's a bother. I know you enjoy the view, you're only human." Now he was being smug on top of having called out her voyeurism. Naked in a bathtub and somehow she felt more exposed by his words. With that, a switch flipped inside her. Back to the growing anger, the product of weeks of being played like his instrument, and not in a way that did Molly much good at all.

"Well I'm glad you're aware, so now I can comfortably tell you just how cured of my attraction to you I am.  A month of playing your game is more than enough to show me just how great an ass you are."

 

Molly's birthday bubble bath suddenly felt emptier and colder.  She turned the tub's hot water back on just as she heard him chuckle in arrogant disbelief at her words, followed by the unmistakable unzipping of his trousers.

 

"Just how great of an ass is it, Molly?" He laughed to himself, thinking it clever that he'd twisted up her words. But to Molly, he was like a bully who'd found the weak spot in his prey. Sherlock was just being cruel now, suddenly shifting from ignoring her all week to tormenting her for what was, up until now, a fairly innocent crush. One that served him just fine, in fact. Disgusted with herself and despite her anger, she couldn't help but picture him right now. Even when he was being this callous, she was intoxicated by his fleetingly dark sense of humour, by his desire deep down, just like hers, to expose what others would strive to keep hidden.

_Oh god, now I have to imagine him holding himself right there, just outside this flimsy curtain._

Maybe the key to why she let him divide her this way was in exactly how torn she was between the gauze of propriety and the deliciousness of indecency.

It was beginning to heat up in the tub, the water and the steam settling on the curtain now. She could see that two candles had gone out, making the space somewhat darker and now seeing Sherlock's silhouette as he made his way nearer to the tub. He leaned against the sink, facing her direction now, the both of them still separated by the thin fabric.

_Bathing within feet of a man I lust for unreturnedly, and with whom I also work, while he relieves himself and I imagine what his cock looks like in his strong hands. If that is not the very definition of indecency, I don't know what is._

She sat still, trying to push the thought from her mind, feeling tears well up in a mix of desire and defeat. Then she heard him shuffle slightly, sigh heavily as if her silence was telling him he'd gone too far.

"Molly, since you are relatively incapacitated, perhaps I should take this moment to tell you something." His tone seemed to soften, but in her experience, this was meant to pave the way for a surgical strike. A calculating blow. Maybe he was going to tell her just how off-putting and inappropriate her obvious reveling in their fantasy was.If so, he could shove it.

Sherlock couldn't figure just how to string the words together. Did she not understand that they were working together? He was in need of her help, sure, but he also extended to her the adventure she sought, well-intentioned as he did. And now he was teasing her without mercy, poking fun at how being human, having needs, was something to shamefully tuck away.

 

"Sherlock, for the love of God, just-" Her music stopped.

 

"I'm only human too. It's you that makes me realize it, and I owe you more than I understand how to give. But please, just...thank you. Truly. I'm so sorry."

 

She sat in silence save for the bubbles gently popping and the tap pouring forth. She reached to turn it off, soapy froth pooling up all around her. Not being able to see his face, but wanting desperately to search it for the truth she hoped was there somewhere, she leaned toward the curtain.

 

"Sherlock-" He turned the song back on, this time turning it up slightly. She could hear him moving closer, saw his hand reach for the curtain too. Slowly he pulled it back and Molly brought her knees up, subconsciously concealing what was already hidden. And already exposed. He met her gaze and bent down to search her eyes for some understanding.

"Molly, I was a robot before you. Without you. Mr. Turner is..." Sherlock couldn't meet her eyes, and Molly couldn't take hers off of his.

"I know you're not him. I'm not trying to..."

 

"I wish I could be, for you." Sherlock bore his eyes down into hers as he spoke, hoping Molly understood his vulnerability was only matched by his incredible understanding that he was failing her. He was letting her feel how she felt, and he was using it.

Molly could only sit, her mind swimming with exactly what he was trying to say. Not wanting to indulge the hope of him being capable of expressing it, of being what she wanted.

She waited.

Another candle flickered out.

Sherlock turned his head to the adjustment, seeing the last flame flickering at the tub's corner, lighting up Molly's pale skin. Seeming to cast the same sunset glow on it that he pulled her from on the beach, and into this world. Again.

His guilt crept up still, but then he felt a shimmering bubble burst out and gently mist him with the scented water. He cocked his head toward her exposed and dewy skin, just above the water's surface, and watched an island of smaller white bubbles glide down the smooth plane of her knee to her thigh.  It was captivating, freezing him in this moment, forgetting what he felt was on the tip of his tongue.

He met her eyes again, an audible inhale seeming to suck all the air out of the room. His right hand came up to the tub's edge, mere inches from her glistening form. He hesitated, and Molly's eyes darted from her leg to his hand, trying to will them to connect.

_I want to be angry, I need to be to say what needs saying..._ Molly too was distracted by this sensation she was feeling. The air felt heavier than before, like to speak would mean having to bite into it.

Sherlock reached out, palm down, and touched a foamy spot at the top of her thigh, the fluffy soap cool against her searing hot flesh. He slid his hand down, Molly closed her eyes on instinct, until his hand was now cupping at the inside of her mid-thigh, the shock of the hot water on his fingertips stilled him. So many temperatures at once, it felt as if their bodies had inverted the way touch worked. Sherlock felt as if her skin had jumped into his hand. Molly's body beneath the surface cooled instantly upon meeting his warmth, moving ever closer to where she'd dreampt of it.

He watched as it settled there, the tiniest bit of pressure on it now, as if without his consent. Then he saw Molly's eyes grow wide, misinterpreting this for fear. He pulled it back with a gentle splash of water, darted his eyes away with what looked like guilt or shame, then seemed to shake off whatever thought had come into his mind, before standing up abruptly and making towards the bathroom door.

 

"Sherlock! Wait!" Molly called out. She heard the bathroom door shut, some ruffling, and seconds later, the door to her room. Their room.

 

_Happy Birthday Molly Hooper,_ she sighed as the music continued its woeful tune and she sunk into the depths of her own private party.

 


	2. The Talented Mr. Turner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having cast aside the events in the bath (for now) Molly and Sherlock must make their final play in the case of the LaJoie murders. Their last night as Mr. Turner, male escort, and Ms. Holloway, heiress, the air filled with the promise of a final night of fantasy. Or perhaps now, with the stakes higher than ever, a new reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE SMUT ARRIVES! 
> 
> I certainly tried to wrap up the mystery to get to the action faster, but would love feedback on how to bring the two together more smoothly since apparently all I have on the brain is our shy Sherlock wanting to please Molly.

 

“So, are we going to talk about that?” An impatient voice does not speak, it barks.

“I was really rather hoping to avoid it. Its been almost two hours, I’m quite sure that is enough time for me to delete it and move on.” Sherlock knew the anger and confusion he so often caused the people who cared about him, but held his ground. _They know what they signed on for. Weakness to refuse me should not be rewarded with my peddling and apologizing when they regret it._

Sherlock had been running through the case’s progress without so much as a pleasantry.

“Well, you didn’t tell me you were leaving for a month and I was angry with Mary too, and ... I’m sorry I called you a selfish prat, though it is often fitting.” John was frazzled, and Sherlock found the temporary shift in focus to his lesser problems sometimes helped him reset his brain.

Molly was getting sick of their bickering, especially over speakerphone, especially while she was trying to sleep. Of course Sherlock kept odd hours in their work on this case, such that the precious hours she had to herself that saved Molly from the reality of this ridiculous life…they were few and far between of late. _I could also do without your amazing ability to forget my presence,_ clearly not taking so much as a scan toward the couch she was curled up on when he barged into their hotel room. His usually tuned senses picked up on everything in a room. _Some victory, that such a moment with me would throw him off._ With barely so much as a glance around, he was narrowly trained on checking in with John.

“Well John, I’m sure you have some pressing issues to attend, so I won’t bore you further but to say that the case is almost wrapped,” Sherlock paused while John pressed him for more details and asked about Molly.

“Yes I had a rather unique moment with Molly wherein I was overcome by the sight of her and our very open conversation, about her obvious attraction to me and subsequent anger when I teased her about it, and so I confessed that I only feel human when I am with her and then I let my hand reach out to graze her leg. While she was in a bubble bath. Then I ran out, because I am having trouble understanding why I was unable to think my way out of that desire. Anyhow, I’ve got to go take down murderer, it looks like tonight may be the night, so I’m off. If you work up any ideas on what exactly I can do about this Molly situation, email or text. I’ll be busy. Cheers.”

Molly’s mouth dropped open as she heard John protest before being unceremoniously cut off.

Sherlock moved to the closet to choose something to go with his hat, knowing tonight could be a journalist’s dream. John and Molly both seemed to like when he played into his image. _Oh right, Molly._

Molly’s anger at his dismissal of her gave way and now she reveled in invisibility. This was her first glimpse at what he thought of their highly intimate, if not terrifyingly confusing, encounter.

But now she could feel Sherlock making his way towards her, and she felt herself tighten. _Should I pretend to be asleep, no he’d see through it. I’ll just confront him I suppose._

As Sherlock reached Molly she popped up. She was still foggy from sleep and it took her a moment to stand firmly, ready to spar.

“Sherlock, we need to-“

“Get dressed if we’re going to finish this.”

“I was thinking quite the opposite would accomplish the finishing…” Molly giggled and moved to stand closer to Sherlock than he knew what to do with. _Now or never isn’t it?_

“Molly I don’t have time to address that…incident… right now. I am Mr. Turner and you are my grateful and generous client, and tonight we bringing justice. The local police felt my presence unnecessary in their case, despite having read the blog. I even wore the bloody hat for them and still nothing. Pride will get you only so far. Now here, I had the staff choose a dress for you.”

He brusquely tossed her a garment bag and strode towards the bathroom to change. Molly was quieted and felt no need to argue when he was clearly so tense. But at least whatever had transpired between them could be dealt with when this was all over. And at least he felt the need to put it aside. Not delete it.

As she unzipped the bag, a small gasp escaped her as she laid eyes on a deep red gown with a low back and plunging neck line. Then a soundbite of a memory popped into her head from a week ago.

“Well it will need to be something daring, my guest is a passionate woman.” Sherlock was speaking to the hotel staff, keeping their cover nicely. He was growling out as Mr. Turner. “Oh and if you could find it in a rich red please.” His voice turned softer at this, slipping from his character. “She doesn’t know just how beautiful she is in red.”

Molly was certain that her flush was imitating the gown’s hue as she slid into it. _My, it is daring._ Included in the garment bag was a roll of ‘fashion tape.’ As if on cue she heard Sherlock call from the washroom and pull her from the memory of his secret compliment.

“You’re meant to affix that tape to your…the inside of the neckline. To keep everything in place. If you need a hand…”

“Oh thanks, yes that would be –“

“I can ring up the maid.”

Molly should have known better than to think he was implying he help her tape herself into this gown. Though he had thought about it, having the foresight to include the it.

“It’s no problem, I can manage.”

Molly did her makeup and spritzed a bit of Chanel #5. She stood in front of the full mirror, and set to work fastening herself into the top half of the gown. As she let the satiny fabric drape over her chest, her skin prickled awake. She let the skirt piece fall to the floor and admired herself, turning to see the smooth of her bare back. _Delicious. Once this night is done, maybe I’ll take myself out for a drink._

Sherlock got the clear that she was dressed and made his way into the room. A gentle smile graced is lips briefly and he made every effort to tamp it back.

“Well you do look lovely Molly. We may need you to appear a little more disheveled if anyone else is going to believe that _you_ paid for _my_ company.” Sherlock could be accidentally charming at times. Molly took the compliment with confidence.

“Better make it red wine then, don’t want to ruin this gown.”

Sherlock forcibly slipped into his role in an attempt to avoid the very obvious heart rate increase, the slight sweat he felt, and the warmth of her skin on his as he took her elbow. Now they could relax into these alter egos for the evening, a comfort Sherlock was finding to be a greater respite for him with each night. He felt at ease with Molly in this dynamic. He felt in control, alert, allowed to be what he felt he never could for her.

_I wish I could be him, for you…_

Sherlock swallowed the image of her soapy in the tub, and replaced it with the image before him. An immaculate beauty, a woman so capable of love, and he a cold and hollow man.

“Shall we go, Mr. Turner?” A gentle smirk and a grasp of his arm, and Sherlock was out of his thought and into this wonderful reality.

He silenced his thoughts and placed a hand on the small of her back as they exited the room and traipsed down the hall. Molly was giving it everything she had to enjoy this last night of their ruse together. She was going to make it count.

They laughed and fakely petted one another on their walk to the town car, each committing to their charade such that they seemed blissfully unaware of their new driver, also fully committed to his new role.

As they drove, the Heiress Holloway stared out the window, dreaming up just how she might get to dance, to touch, to laugh and grope at her Mr. Turner one last time. Surely she couldn’t be blamed for having a few real glasses of wine and truly sinking into her position at his side. She felt safe with him, knowing she could show up to the party they were headed to, could find a cozy space once he went to find their man and give the call, getting his newly made network to secure their criminal. The coast stretched out before them as conversation came easily, talk of the sights they'd seen and the beauty of this sprawling beach paradise.

They were almost to the party, already each two glasses of merlot in, when a phone rang in the backseat somewhere. Sherlock laughed and talked with his heiress, allowing the call to ring itself out. As he leaned back, however, his elbow caught the ‘answer on speaker’ button and immediately filled the car with the cries of a newborn baby. And Mrs. Hudson.

“Sherlock so sorry to bother you on the case, but John and Mary are at the cinema and, well, I can’t seem to-“

Sherlock stared in horror as he fumbled and shut off the phone. Molly stopped laughing and looked at him, knowing something was wrong but not knowing what. Until the driver suddenly swerved harshly to the right into a dark parking lot, broke fast, and was opening his door. Molly’s eyes met Sherlock’s, and before she could move, he grasped her face firmly but gently.

“Molly, we’ve been made. Get in the front and drive.” He produced form the depths of his suit a spare set of keys and a gun. Molly’s eyes grew wide and she tried to stay composed. This wasn’t the first time she’d been in such a position, but he’d never left her side during the case. Not once.

“Sherlock, will you-“

“Just do it. And send them everything we’ve got on this clown. Why do you have to question everything?” And with that he quickly planted a rough kiss to her lips. He pulled away, his expression unreadable, and disappeared from the car, running after the man as Molly shook off her shock and tried to remember that her life was in danger. _That kiss though._ She would have time later to figure out if it was a promise or a goodbye.

She watched as they disappeared around a darkened building, and glanced at the ocean far off before stashing the gun in her purse and hopping out of the back seat.

As she slid behind the wheel she kicked off her heels, opened the disposable phone Sherlock had given her, and sent a single text to the number Sherlock had her memorize. She had no idea who was on the receiving end. Her head swirled with the wine, the taste of it on his mouth, his mouth on her mouth…she typed and retyped and pulled herself together. _You’re tired, near drunk, and the dress and the Sherlock… about to drive…focus Molly._

**Send the files**

**-HH**

Her main objective complete, Molly’s other fears crept up. Stranded in a parking lot in a foreign country, and about to pilot a vehicle she had very little practice in driving. And nowhere to go that would be safe. After a month of high stakes she had prepared herself for a final, easy night. Not these adrenaline rushes that threw her around like she were gossamer on a breeze. A swift reply came and she felt some relief at the familiar signature.

**Done. Get to the Motel 8 off the main road outside downtown as soon as you can. The room for Ms. Holloway is paid for. And try to come home in one piece. We need you.**

**-GL**

Molly’s heart swelled and she silently thanked Sherlock for setting up a failsafe in case things went sideways. She made a mental note to hug Lestrade when she was back. After composing herself again, she quickly selected the only number programmed into the phone. When a man answered curtly she said “All the definitive proof you’ll need to indict Terrence Lajoie is being sent to your hard drives. You’d do well to view it.” A glance at the setting sun told Molly her direction and she gunned the car towards what she hoped would be the last stop on her bizarre vacation.     

 

* * *

               

Molly had driven for almost two hours, knuckles white and eyes alert, but tired. Her adrenaline was kicked into high gear and it was not sustaining her. She finally spotted the motel, parked the car across the street, crushed the phone with her heel and tossed the remnants underneath. She found her suitcases piled near the door, and idly thought _Sherlock, you think of everything._ Three hours after settling herself into the room, the shades drawn tightly, the door bolted, double-bolted, and every light out, Molly lost her battle with exhaustion and drifted off with the tv on silently and the gun nestled under her pillow. 

 

* * *

 

Just as the sun began its slow rise, Molly awoke hazily and made her way to the bathroom. Having dreampt about the conversation she had with Sherlock just before she’d sunk down into the bath 24 hours before, her muddled mind told her she’d better turn the tap off before it overflowed. As she walked toward the sound, she blearily looked at the room, and began to piece together her reality. The motel, the phone call, _god am I wearing the dress still?_ The candles, the smell of the night before, when Sherlock had touched her and run. Did he kiss her? But the tap was running. Fragments, all of it, I must be dreaming still. She rubbed her eyes and focussed on the bathroom door. She reached out for the handle, overcome by the warm damp air and the smell of lilacs. Her eyes first landed on the soft bubbles before coming up to rest on Sherlock’s face.

“You sleep like a log. It’s a good thing you weren’t followed. I told you to destroy the phone before driving off.”

 

“Wasn’t I? Didn’t I? When did you get here?” Molly shook her head awake.

 

“A few hours ago. Not long after you fell asleep. Still in that dress.” He quickly took note of how the fabric was slightly wrinkled around her.

 

“I’m sorry, I’ll have it pressed before we send it back.” Molly was smoothing it out, nervous again, knowing he was eyeing her in it. Swimming with questions about everything.

 

“No need. It’s the last gift from Mr. Turner. Your escort/client relationship was over as of three hours ago. If you ask me, the police in this town are quite slow." Sherlock beamed.

 

“You got him?” Molly’s shoulders dropped and she felt a last wave of tension leave her. Only a shred of loss crept up, knowing that she would never get her final dance, her final night with the millionaire escort.

 

“We got him, Ms. Holloway.” Molly eyed him quizzically as he continued in his put-upon voice. Sherlock turned the taps off the bath and Molly suddenly realized what he had done for her. It hadn’t been just her reverie. Sherlock was quietly smirking at her, his voice low as he walked to her.

 

“Now I believe the birthday girl is owed a nice relaxing bath, especially if you’re going to be requiring my services this evening.”

 

All the nights of fantasy, long before the last stretch of days and alter egos that had swept her away, and Molly wouldn’t let herself believe this was happening. Just exactly what was happening?

He’d known. He hadn’t chosen to delete the day. She searched his gait as he walked to her, his eyes cast down because he knew that to see her would mean finding those wide eyes and might spell his hasty exit again.

Pushing past this fear, Sherlock moved to her, stopping in the doorway as he aligned himself beside her, as if preparing to tango. Boldly winding his left hand around her waist, he used his right to grasp the zipper that sat low on the side of the dress. Molly didn't dare turn her head to catch a glimpse of his face, he needed to do this his way. He pulled it down just low enough to reveal the hem of her black lace underwear. He paused briefly as she turned her head to watch him, first fixed on his hand, then up his arm. In the silence between them Molly felt the damp air sealing them in this odd but intriguing half-embrace. She nodded and he finished the zip, down past the fabric and back to her pale skin. When it stopped just above her mid-thigh, he gently pulled his hands away, this time keeping his eyes on her. Challengingly so.

 

Molly stuttered out “Th-thank you. Sh-sher-“

 

“Mr. Turner. And by the way…”

 

Sherlock turned to stand behind her now, perhaps to show Molly a slice of the dancer within that she had moved with in their other lives. Sliding the thin fabric of the dress off her shoulders as he spoke dusty whispers in her ear.

 

“You’re paid up for the rest of the month.” Sherlock placed a soft kiss at the nape of her neck and Molly turned then, grabbing at his hips and pushing her searing lips up to meet his.

 

The steam from the room was mixing with their heavy breaths and Molly felt the sweat against her skin start to trickle down her neck, settling in the front of her dress and prying the tape from her damp skin.

 

She felt Sherlock slide his hand down her back, weaving his fingers into the dress and grasping at her skin as it fell from her to her waist and down to the floor.

 

Sherlock pulled back and took in the sight of her.

 

“Molly. You are exquisite.”

 

“You called me Molly.” She spoke gently as she took his hands in hers.

 

He tensed again, slightly, his mask off and nowhere to hide. Molly froze, not wanting to scare him off again. She let him explore now, slowly placing his hand on her bare hip, letting him draw it up to cup her breast.

 

Sherlock kissed her again, tentatively, and felt himself relax into the sensation of her naked form pressing against his thin shirt.

 

“I still ruined your bath. Allow me to make it up to you. Please.”

 

She nodded as she dropped her hands to her waist, hooking her fingers into the sides of the lace that remained the only barrier between the thick air and his widening eyes. She felt the same sensation as the night before, all electric energy.

 

“Let me.” Sherlock held his hands out to hers, gliding the fabric slowly down her legs as he knelt, looking up at her. She was a queen with him at her feet, and she knew in that moment just how badly he had wanted her too. The act may have been intended as a symbol of his penance, perhaps conceived of in his mind as a winning seduction technique. But she could see even he was surprised that his desire to be there, to worship her in this way, was a truth from deep inside him.

 

When he smiled and let out a satisfied sigh, Molly giggled and placed a hand in his curls to support herself. She stepped from the panties and he cast them aside. The red dress was nothing compared to how sexy she felt wearing his eyes as they fell over her.

 

She took his hand as he helped her into the tub, running his other hand along her thigh as she lifted it. His neck pressed against hers, his chest heaving against her back. She toed the water, climbed in and turned to him.

“Sherlock-“ Molly carefully spoke his name, wanting this to be them. No longer the charade.

 

“There’s more. I almost forgot the main bit.” Sherlock reached to the side of the tub as Molly lowered herself, the water hugging her tightly. She heard a faint sound and recognized the violin tune, something she’d heard in 221b on occasion. Her radio. 

 

“I’d hear you hum it sometimes in the lab. I wrote it for you anyway.”

 

Molly felt herself blush not just from the heat of the water, as Sherlock poured a fragrant soap into a loofah and tentatively placed it near her arm. She nodded as she closed her eyes and sank further in, letting him run the soapy sponge over her skin, up to her legs, gently across her chest and her neck. Her pert nipples bobbed above the water’s surface and back down as the level changed, and she felt him taking the sight in and let herself indulge in the sensation. When he reached her ear she felt his wrist drop the foamy sponge into the bath, his hand clasping at her neck and pulling her to him into a dangerously messy and lovely kiss that made her dizzy. Sherlock fumbled at the side of the tub, steadied himself trying to avoid getting his shirt wetter than it already was, and broke the kiss briefly.

 

Both hazy and laughing and unsure of what to do next, Molly gave a sympathetic look to Sherlock, readying herself to thank him for the effort but suggest she maybe get out and meet him on the bed, when she saw a flicker in his eye that reminded her of the urgency he’d had in the car when their driver took off.

 

He pulled his shirt off, plunged his arms into the tub and picked Molly up from the soak, her sopping skin dripping all over the mat and droplets of water flying about the room. Molly laughed, nipped at his neck, and whispered in his ear.

 

“Couldn’t wait?”

 

“Baths are nice, but relaxation is not on my mind right now. Nor yours.” He carried her sloppily through the hall into the main room.

 

“Or you just have an affinity for a dirty girl.”

 

Sherlock grinned at the spark in her eyes and he gently tossed her onto the mattress, still strewn with blankets. He retrieved a towel from the bathroom and returned to lay next to her, toweling her inefficiently and kissing the dampness away as he did so, moving from the crooks of her elbows to the tops of her thighs while she writhed and giggled, moaned and squirmed, loving the attention. She felt like they were kittens playing. Then his hands were at her hips, pinning her in place. And his mouth was hovering over her most sensitive spot.

 

“Mr. Turner, aren’t you just a man of action.” Molly was enjoying their game, finally allowing herself to play as she’d wanted. Letting them be themselves together, and letting the charade say what they still couldn’t entirely.

 

He locked eyes with her and gave a tender smile, a flash of vulnerability in his blues before he regained his grip on her and swiped his tongue across the sensitive flesh just above her clit. Molly felt the air leave her and wondered if he might be accidentally a fantastic lover because of his inexperience, but clear ability to read her. She had her answer when he ran his hand up her leg, sliding his long fingers behind her knee and caressing the spot while his mouth kissed the air above her skin. The apex of her thighs ached but she loved the way he would adjust the pressure of his touches when she softly sighed or moaned. She closed her eyes and felt his body move up hers, his warm flesh pressing against her chest.

 

When he met her sights again, he swam with the adrenaline of their weeks of build up. _Hell, years._

 

“Molly I am very glad you decided to abandon your vacation for me.”

 

“As if I had a choice Sherlock” Molly ran her hands over his arms and traced the thin but dense muscles as he hovered above her.

 

“I think we may be magnetic. Now come back down here.”

 

Their mouths met again, and Sherlock took his time exploring her lips as he lowered himself and moved gently over her. The sensation of his trousers connecting across her legs was sparking her memory now of weeks before when they sat together in the limo. In that soft sarong, he saddled up to her closer than he’d ever done. There was more intimacy in his leg touching hers than in some of their nights asleep together. It would happen when they danced together, when Mr. Turner and his client would cuddle up in bars and the backs of fancy cars.

 

“Molly what’s on your mind?” Sherlock asked between kisses.

 

“I was just thinking of you and me. Is this just while we’re a world away? You solved the case, we won. But when we get home…?”

 

“I don’t start what I don’t intend to finish. I think maybe we should stay on vacation for a while, however. You really haven’t gotten a proper one anyway.”

 

Molly almost welled up at the thought of this man staying with her. Being hers. They could worry about that when she wasn’t writhing against him, begging for more of his skin on hers.

 

“Maybe this would go more smoothly if I took these off.” Sherlock knelt up and unbuckled his slacks while Molly sat up, kissing along his jaw. It was sufficiently distracting and she slid her hands slowly down his sides before taking the buckle into her own hands and sliding the belt out in one quick swish. The tail end of it gently nipped his hip and Sherlock’s eyes quickly took in her mischievous grin.

 

“Did that hurt, I’m sorry…” Molly giggled as she touched the spot.

 

“Less than I had imagined it would. Maybe we could put that to use at some point.” Sherlock grasped the belt and gently slid it from her fingers, letting it linger as he pulled.

 

“Already an expert, are we?” Molly pushed him back off the bed and let him stand before her, eyes fixed on his tall and taute frame. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his pants and pulled just the front down, just enough to let his sizable erection peek out. He shuddered and looked down at her, feeling boyish at how her touch affected him.

 

Molly rid him of the rest of his clothes and stood before him, letting them take in the sight of each other. She reached a hand up to his face, pulled him to her and kissed him as his form melted to hers. Everything from there and back to the bed felt like slow motion, the room around them but a hazy mix of colours. They tangled into each other as they lay side by side on the soft sheets, taking their time with each kiss.

 

Sherlock pulled from her lips and gently nudged her onto her back, arching his eyebrows in question. Molly nodded, smiling crookedly at him as he rose above her again. His left hand reaching behind her neck, he felt for a pillow and adjusted it beneath her. He planted a soft kiss to her nose, passed her mouth, and made his way to her neck.

 

Molly could feel his length making contact with her slit, slick with arousal as it had been every night since he pulled her into this. But he pulled away and slid down her body again.

 

“Molly I know how you’ve thought of me every night, and I couldn’t let myself admit that it kept me from sleep too.” He punctuated his words with nibbles on her neck and earlobes. Molly moaned into his touch.

 

“But I want something else first, before you let me feel you completely.”

 

Molly raised her head and he moved down towards her wet heat again.

 

“Sherlock, we’ll have plenty of time for that, right now I just need you-“

 

“Well you will have to wait then, won’t you. I’m a professional, Ms. Holloway. “

 

Molly had waited so long for his touch, and now he was going to exploit that desire once again. She would have slapped him if it didn't turn her on so much.

 

“Oh you are going to get it when I’m-“ He cut off her thought with two fingers sliding up and into her at such a perfect angle that her hips bucked right off the bed before the pleasure liquefied her down to the mattress. His tongue found her clit while his other hand spread her lips apart and he lapped at her like she gave him life.

 

“Fuck Sherlock that’s…wow.” She felt him smile against her before he continued to move his fingers inside her, alternating with long, slow thrusts in and out, and keeping them deep while curving them up.

 

He took his mouth away briefly, circling her nub with his finger gently.

 

“The night we were in the casino, you watched me winning for Lajoie…I saw you squirming in your seat. Tell me why Molly.”

 

“I was imagining you all over me. You know I was.”

 

“I just wanted to hear you say it.” Sherlock pulled her clit back into his mouth and swirled his tongue across it, top to bottom, moving his fingers still. Molly could feel herself reddening, all the heat from her core was pushing her closer to coming, but her mind was racing with thoughts of him. Inside her. And she knew his movements, while glorious and amazing, would not get her there. It had always been that way for her.

 

As Sherlock moved and licked, Molly tried to push it from her mind just how badly she wanted him inside her. She’d never had a lover make her come without intervening herself just a bit, and certainly not just from a cock, no matter how lovely and impressive Sherlock’s appeared to be. It was threatening to take her over and she just wanted to be here with him in this moment. She wanted it to be perfect.

 

“Sherlock, please, I need to feel you inside me.” Was all Molly could think to say. But her body was tensing now in more than pleasure. _Nerves, maybe._ Sherlock wondered.

 

“Molly, is everything okay?” Of course he could see more than just lust and love in her. He knew she had more to say.

 

“It’s just, what you’re doing is so lovely, and I don’t want to spoil this, but I need you to know that I can’t, I don’t ever-“

 

“Oh Molly, I want to know your body in every way that I can, and I know that’s not going to happen right away. I just love the finding out. All I can think about is the little moans you make when I do this-“ He licked a stripe from her wet hole to the tip of her clit.

 

“Sherlock, please, I need you-“

 

With that, he positioned himself above her and let the tip of his cock part her folds slightly, kissing her softly as he stilled and smiled down at her.

 

“At your service, Heiress.”

 

Molly felt herself gasp and tighten as he filled her halfway and planted a tender kiss to her damp forehead. When he pulled back to look at her again, he moved further inside her and nearly crumbled on top of her at the heat of it.

 

“Oh god.” Molly’s eyes went to the ceiling and crossed as she closed them, the image of that first day on the beach flitting across her mind. She looked back at Sherlock, who was nestling his head in her neck and trying to keep himself steady. She was not prepared for the gravity of the moment, the way he moved inside her felt almost like they had been here before and we finally coming back to each other. The nights she lay restless next to him, imagining this moment, were washing away. He pulled out again and thrust in fully, breathing into her ear softly. This was a dream, the way he fit her so perfectly, the way his hips rolled deeper into hers, she was closing her eyes and being pulled from the moment into her fantasy again.

 

But this was really him. Mr. Turner was gone, was never more than a way for them both to indulge what they couldn’t seem to in truth. Here instead was the man she loved. Loving her. _And god damn if it didn’t seem like second nature to him._

 

“Molly-“ Sherlock whispered as he sped up his thrusts, leaning back on his knees to hold her hips. He was in a trance too, eyes shut tightly when he moved into her, hands grasping at her waist to pull her onto him. Moving on instinct, his body taking over his mind for once.

 

As his pace increased, Molly felt her hands moving to him, scratching lightly along his thighs, her back arching when he pulled her to him, impaling her. Being consumed by the warmth of him, it wasn’t far off from the way the bath had enveloped her. But this sensation was her entire body awakening while he brought her closer to what she could only imagine was perfect bliss.

 

She felt the familiar tension in her stomach, wanted even more than release for him to never stop.

 

“Sherlock, I love the way you feel inside me.” She resisted the urge to pull him deeper, knowing he had to pace himself. But she wanted to let go of it all now. Let everything from inside them both pour out without either of their trademark sensibility to catch every stray drop and direct things to just where they fit. This was messy and wonderful and blurry and sickeningly brilliant.

 

Sherlock was alternating his thrusts now, slowing and softening them, mercifully for both their benefit. Molly held him tightly with her heels at his tight ass, then let her feet drop to the bed while she thrust her hips up onto his somehow still soaking wet cock. How he managed to get her near the edge so close made he wonder if she might one day find herself being undone by a man without having to intervene herself. Once they were more accustomed to each other. But this right here was a more than a few notches above heavenly.

 

As he once again sped up, Molly could feel her own tension build yet again, and moved her hand down to stroke her own clit. As she felt the familiar cresting, she felt too that she was slipping away from Sherlock again. Whenever she hit that peak, she was lost to the world and subsequently the man burying himself inside her. Before she noticed, Sherlock was whispering in her ear.

 

“Molly I am going to undo you tonight.”

 

She looked down to find that some time ago, without even noticing, her hand had been replaced by his, expertly mimicking her movements. Her eyes locked to his in surprise and a blissfully foolish grin spread over her face as she felt herself finally being pulled into such a magical place with him. Sherlock pounded deep into her once more and she imploded and exploded around him. Her hands firmly in his hair and clawing at his back, his mouth smirking wickedly as it hungrily pulled her lips to his own, Sherlock holding her so tightly to him as his orgasm hit in waves syncing to her own, that they had surely fused as she came around him.

 

This new reality of theirs was built on their release as one. The thought of it made Molly weep and laugh. When she felt Sherlock tense and shudder over and inside and through her, she was whole.

 

“How could this possibly get any better, Sherlock?” Molly breathed as the room around her came into fuzzy focus. She pulled the duvet up and tangled it around them as they tangled into each other.

 

“There’s something about a missing diamond in Italy. Stolen right from the victim’s neck.” Sherlock swiped a finger across Molly’s neck as he spoke. “We may need to get away there, possibly a month or longer.”

 

“Didn’t I read on John’s blog that you weren’t taking that case?” Molly played dumb asking, just wanting to hear him do his smart-alec routine she knew and loved.

 

“Oh yes, the woman staged the theft for the insurance. Open and shut.”

 

“Well, then-?”

 

“Nobody else has to know that though.” Sherlock drew Molly in tightly and slid his hand up her thigh, pulling it across his legs as he kissed her earlobes. She could feel his length hardening somehow again.

 

“Ready when you are, Mr. Turner.”


End file.
